


Amplexus

by reliand



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 22:32:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1619354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reliand/pseuds/reliand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wanders from bed to bed these days. He doesn’t feel comfortable staying in his own if his dad isn’t home, so he pads to his jeep in his pajamas, pillow tucked under his arm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amplexus

Stiles wanders from bed to bed these days. He doesn’t feel comfortable staying in his own if his dad isn’t home, so he pads to his jeep in his pajamas, pillow tucked under his arm. Mrs. Martin doesn’t look comfortable with him heading straight to Lydia’s room when she answers the door. She follows him down the hallway and peeks her head in as he flops down on Lydia’s mattress, face first.

“Keep the door open,” Mrs. Martin tells Lydia through a thin-lipped smile. Stiles can’t see Lydia’s face, but he can just imagine her rolling her wide green eyes.

“Mom, I haven’t been a virgin in almost two years. Quit pretending I’m sweet and innocent,” Lydia tells her. Mrs. Martin sighs from the doorframe, and Stiles listens to her walking down the hallway. Lydia puts a hand on the back of his head, petting through his hair. “I was going to say we could catch up some schoolwork, but you don’t look like you’ll last for five minutes. Get some sleep.” They fall asleep atop the covers, Lydia keeping her feet warm under Stiles’ pillow, and Stiles sprawled horizontally across the mattress.

Stiles mumbles his approval and the next night he’s curled around Scott. Spooning him really, and Scott kicks at his shins and whines that he’s making him all sweaty.

“You shouldn’t be able to produce this much heat, dude,” Scott gripes. “It’s fucking February. You’re making it August.”

“I can go,” Stiles yawns. He starts to rise, unwrapping his arm from around Scott’s middle, and Scott tugs him back down.

“Don’t be dumb,” Scott reassures, hugging Stiles' arm to his chest. “I said you’re hot, not get out. And it’s after midnight. You’re not going anywhere.” Stiles yawns again, shuffles closer so they’re pressed together from shoulder to knee. Scott sighs.

“At least kick the blankets off,” he asks, and they sleepily shove them down the bed before drifting back to dreamland.

Stiles never calls Derek before heading over, unlike what he does for everyone else, because Derek is always out when he does. Stiles wonders if Derek just doesn’t want him there, but it doesn’t really matter because Stiles has a key. Scott does too.

He lugs his backpack and pillow with him, doesn’t even bother with the table to set up a study session. He heads straight for Derek’s king size bed, spreads his homework and papers all around him to get something productive done. Sometimes Peter is there, mocking him from wherever he’s perched in the room, or weirdly spouting off answers to questions if Stiles mechanically reads them aloud. Stiles always double checks them, because Peter is a dick and would totally give wrong answers to watch Stiles grades slip lower. Surprisingly, they’re correct.

“Don’t you have your own place to lurk in?” Stiles asks him and Peter shrugs.

“Don’t you have your own bed?” Peter counters, and moves away from the window to stalk towards Stiles. “Or are you hoping someone will finally take pity on you and climb into bed without clothes.”

“Well, duh,” Stiles says, but it’s pure sarcasm. “Someone’s bound to give in one of these days.”  

“I could help with that,” Peter drawls as Derek slides the heavy door to the loft open, bags of takeout in his hand. “Oh good. You brought food.” Peter saunters away from the bed to get whatever Derek’s holding.

“Are you still here?” Derek asks, handing over a carton of Chinese.

“I’m keeping our guest company,” Peter says. Derek nods and gestures to the door.

“It’s getting late. Past your bedtime,” Derek says and Peter laughs, but leaves with his box of food. “I figured it was my turn to deal with you.” Derek comes to the bed and starts closing Stiles’ books and stacking them neatly on the nightstand.

“I can leave if it’s too much trouble,” Stiles says, not meeting Derek’s eyes as he shuffles his assignments into some semblance of order. Derek wants to tell him that he’d rather keep him in his bed, where he can keep an eye on him so he doesn’t get possessed again, but they’re trying to get past that awful part of their lives. Trying to get Stiles past the fact that just because it was his body, doesn’t mean it was him causing people harm.

“You’re never too much trouble,” Derek says instead. Stiles snorts.

“You’re such a liar. You’re going to regret those words so much when I spill food on your bed,” Stiles says, grabbing at a container and a pair of chopsticks.

“That one’s mine,” Derek says taking the carton from him. “And if you spill food on my bed, I’m going to kick your ass, got it?” Stiles smiles at him. A real smile that crinkles his eyes at the corners and doesn’t feel papery thin and breakable at any moment. They’re hard to make appear on the kid’s face these days, and though Derek would never admit it, he misses them, even though they were most often directed at Scott.

They eat in general silence, and despite Stiles’ sleepiness he finishes his homework while Derek cleans up. Derek and Stiles always fall asleep at opposite edges of the bed, far away from each other and trying to keep out of each other’s space. By morning, Derek has migrated closer to the window, legs tangled with Stiles’ and face against the back of Stiles’ neck.

They don’t talk about it.

It’s not sexual, only comfort. They lay there in the mornings, quiet and content, until Stiles has to leave for school.

It’s not sexual, until it is.

When Stiles and Derek stop keeping the pretense of space between them on nights when it’s Derek’s turn with Stiles. He curls himself right around Derek when they get into bed, and Derek starts to do it right back. He draws in a shaky breath when Stiles’ palm accidently touches the bare skin of his belly.

Stiles hears it. More deliberately touches him, fingertips dragging across Derek’s hip, and Derek doesn’t draw away or grab his hand to stop him.

When Stiles’ noses at the hair on the back of his neck, Derek pushes into it, and Stiles takes that as permission to push his hand lower, beneath the drawstring of Derek’s pants. He gets his hand right around Derek’s hard dick and strokes it, pushes his own cock between Derek’s thighs and humps him like the horny teenager he is.

Derek lets him. Encourages him with curses and moans, shoving his own hand down his pants. He curls his fist around Stiles’ fingers, helping him along, showing him how hard he likes it, until he spills in his pajama bottoms. When Stiles’ comes, he bites the back of Derek’s neck, kisses the skin after to try and soothe it.

Derek rolls over and presses their lips together. He forgets that his hand is covered in come when he reaches up and grabs the back of Stiles’ head.

“Gross, dude,” Stiles says against his mouth.


End file.
